Desecration
by hbwgonnabe
Summary: Finished! Picks up where My Brother's Keeper leaves off. You really should read that one first so you will know what is going on.
1. Default Chapter

Joe Hardy turned his head a couple of times then sat up quickly, gasping for breath. His eyes frantically searched his surroundings, finally coming to rest on the still figure of his eighteen year old brother.  
  
Frank must have sensed Joe's gaze for he awoke, his soulful brown eyes clashing with Joe's intense blue ones. "Easy, baby brother," Frank said, pulling his six foot one inch frame from the chair he had been vacating. "It's over," he soothed Joe, moving to stand by the bedside and ease him back onto his pillow. "You're safe now," he added, pushing a lock of Joe's blond hair from his eyes.  
  
"Callie?" the name came unbidden to Joe's lips but even so, no sound came out.  
  
"She's fine," Frank said, guessing what Joe was trying to say. "She escaped and met us on the highway when we were looking for you."  
  
Frank hit the call button above Joe's head. "Get Dr. Bates in here," he ordered, knowing he was on the premises because he had just been in to check on Joe twenty minutes ago.  
  
"I...I'm thirsty," Joe mouthed but Frank didn't understand him. He just grew more concerned when he realized Joe couldn't speak. Joe cupped his hand and held it up to his lips, tipping it to indicate he needed a drink.  
  
Frank nodded. "Sure, little brother," he said, reaching for a pitcher of ice water and a cup by Joe's bedside. He poured Joe a cup and handed it to him as Dr. Bates entered the room.  
  
A man of medium build, he came no higher than Frank's shoulder as he came to stand beside him. "And how are you feeling today?" Dr. Bates inquired, his green eyes twinkling behind his wire framed glasses as he gazed down at Joe.  
  
Joe finished his water before trying to reply. "Weak," Joe tried to say, but the word never made it.  
  
"There's something wrong with your throat?" Dr. Bates asked, his eyes troubled as he pulled a penlight from his shirt pocket. "Open up and let's have a look," he ordered, turning the light on.  
  
Joe opened his mouth as wide as he could and stuck out his tongue not closing it until the doctor had turned off the light. "I don't see the problem," Dr. Bates said, turning to face Frank. "We will..."  
  
Joe had tried to get their attention by shaking his head but the two were looking at each other and not him so Joe grabbed Dr. Bates' sleeve and tugged on it a bit timidly to gain his attention. Dr. Bates broke off speaking when he felt Joe's tug. "What is it?" Dr. Bates asked Joe.  
  
Joe held up a hand to his throat and curled his fingers to indicate a needle had been injected into it. "Someone gave you a shot in your throat?" Frank asked in disbelief.  
  
Joe held up four fingers then five and shrugged. "All in your throat?" Dr. Bates asked, his face going pale. Joe nodded. "Do you feel up to some tests?" he asked. Again, Joe nodded.  
  
Dr. Bates turned to Frank. "Why don't you go and call your parents while I try and see how much damage there is?" he suggested, taking Frank's arm and leading him away from Joe.  
  
"Do you have any idea what they gave him?" Frank hissed as he was led out of the room.  
  
"No, I don't," Dr. Bates admitted. "But I'm not going to sugar coat this. If he has had more than a few injections, then the damage to his vocal chords could be severe; perhaps even permanent. No matter what they gave him."  
  
Frank went to the nearest pay phone while Dr. Bates went to the nurse's station and ordered the tests for Joe. An orderly with brown hair arrived in Joe's room as Frank returned. "I can push him," Frank offered after Joe had been helped into a wheelchair.  
  
Joe was still very weak from his recent ordeal at the hands of a santanic cult who had prepped him for sacrifice for weeks. He had been starved and given a large amount of wine which had pushed him into a diabetic coma. The IV's he had received to control his sugar level had worked and his levels were once again normal without need for any more medication. However, he had long way to go before making a full recovery.  
  
"Sorry," the man replied. "You won't be allowed in the lab. You can wait here," he told Frank, rolling Joe out of the room. Frank scowled as he watched them leave and sat back down.  
  
As Frank waited he thought back to the events which had led them here. He had just graduated from high school and started the summer session at Bayport University. He had thought his brother was a counselor at a boys' camp for the summer but his dad had paid him a surprise visit only to find out Joe had never arrived at the camp. Instead, Joe had been abducted by a cult who had wanted to use him as a sacrifice.  
  
Frank, Fenton Hardy, and the police had arrived in time to save Joe's life but not in time to rescue him from the pre-sacrifice rituals which he had been enduring for several weeks. Frank had dropped out of college to find Joe and after finding him, to care for him at the hospital. He still felt guilty because he hadn't been there for his brother. Had he been the kind of brother he should have been, Joe would never have taken up with Francessca Wyndham, or Angela Dasher as she was really known. It was Angela who had kidnapped Joe and delivered him into the cult's hands.  
  
Frank sighed and ran a hand through his thick mane of brown hair,a sure sign he was bothered by something. He wondered if Joe would ever be able to forgive him? Oh, Joe hadn't said or done anything to imply he held it against Frank, but then, Frank thought, he hadn't had time. He had only been conscious for a few minutes and already he had been taken for tests to find out what other damage his stay with the cult had caused. Frank shuddered. So many problems and the psychological effects hadn't even been touched upon yet.  
  
He stood up and strode over to look out the window. He could see his parents car in the parking lot and he looked around to see if they had entered the building yet. He spotted them just before they hit the walkway. His dad looked like he had aged ten years in the past few days. He had sat in on the interrogations at the police station. Frank had wanted to as well but his dad had flat out forbidden him to be present. Frank had no idea of what was said but he knew it must be terrible for his dad would come home, go straight to his room and cry. These were at the times when his mother had been at the hospital with Joe. He had no idea how his father reacted when she was home and he had been with his brother.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Hardy arrived in Joe's room a few minutes later. "How is he?" Mr. Hardy demanded of Frank as they entered the room.  
  
"He can't talk," Frank told them, his brown eyes showing them how worried he was. "Those bastards gave him some injections in his throat."  
  
"I know," Mr. Hardy said, lowering his head. "It was Thrimone-X. It paralyzes the vocal chords."  
  
"You knew he wouldn't be able to talk!" Frank shouted in disbelief, his eyes going wide and his expression becoming thunderous.  
  
"No, no," Mr. Hardy quickly denied. "The drug isn't supposed to be permanent but if he was given too many injections in a brief amount of time, they could be."  
  
"And was he?" Frank demanded.  
  
"I...I don't know," Mr. Hardy admitted. "Was he all right?" he asked, steering the conversation away from Joe's talking. "Did he let you near him? The doctor? Was he all right emotionally?"  
  
"He seemed okay, but he wasn't conscious for very long," Frank replied. "But he did seem a bit afraid of Dr. Bates when he was trying to get his attention," he added thoughtfully.  
  
"What did they do to Joe?" Mrs. Hardy demanded, looking at her husband. Her blue eyes clashed with his brown ones and he turned away, unable to face the scrutiny in her eyes.  
  
"They fixed it so he couldn't speak and no one spoke to him," Mr. Hardy said, sitting down in the chair Frank had vacated before their arrival. "They bathed him daily in front of the congregation and starved him. His only sustenance was a glass of wine and a single grape each day right up until the last three days. They began giving him more wine then. One of the sect said it was to sweeten his blood so they could consume it."  
  
"What else did they do to him?" Frank asked, knowing his dad was holding something back.  
  
"Hello," said Dr. Bates as he entered the room. Mr. Hardy breathed a sigh of relief. Dr. Bates would never know how opportune his appearance had been.  
  
"How is he?" Frank asked. "Is the damage permanent?"  
  
"He isn't here?" Dr. Bates asked instead of answering Frank.  
  
"Of course not," Frank replied, his stomach tightening into a multitude of knots. "The orderly took him away. He told me to wait here."  
  
"What did the orderly look like?" Dr. Bates demanded.  
  
"Why?" Frank countered, swallowing fearfully for he knew what the doctor was going to say.  
  
"Because Joe wasn't in the lab," Dr. Bates answered. "I can't find him anywhere." 


	2. Chapter 2

"Call the police," Mr. Hardy ordered his wife, rushing out of the room and taking Dr. Bates with him as Frank followed. "Alert every floor to be on the lookout for Joe and the orderly," he instructed the doctor. Turning to Frank he waited for a description of the orderly.  
  
"Brown hair, hazel eyes, early forties, six foot one," Frank dictated the description. "I'm going to the employee's garage," Frank told his dad and took off. If Joe had been kidnapped, he knew the easiest way to get Joe out of the building would be via the personnel exit.  
  
He raced down the steps, not waiting for the elevator, and through the emergency room doors. He was lucky; a nurse had just opened the door to admit someone and Frank rushed past her. She shouted for someone to contact security as Frank hit the doors on the other side and burst into the employee garage. Nothing! He slowed his pace and looked around the area, seeking any sign of movement.  
  
Less than two minutes later, two orderlies came out of the building heading his way. Not waiting for them to jump him, he turned to the first one and asked, "Did you see an orderly with brown hair pushing a guy with blond hair in a wheelchair come this way a few minutes ago?"  
  
"No," the orderly replied. "Why are you looking for him?"  
  
"My brother was just kidnapped from room 319," Frank answered, his face a scowl. "Look, he had hazel eyes, was the same height as me and had brown hair. Have you seen him at all today?"  
  
"Sorry," the orderly said, shaking his head. "I just got on duty thirty minutes ago. Ken, have you seen this guy?"  
  
"Did he have a gold tooth?" Ken asked, looking at Frank.  
  
"I don't know," Frank replied.  
  
"Well, if it was him, I can tell you what kind of car he drives but that's about it," Ken told him.  
  
"What kind of car is it?" Frank asked. "And do you see it here?"  
  
"It's a dark brown, four door Monte Carlo," Ken informed him. "And no, I don't see it now."  
  
"It was here when I came on duty," the other orderly replied. "It's got a yellow leaf in the window. One of those scent things."  
  
Frank thanked the two men for their help and returned to the third floor where his dad was waiting with his mother for Chief Collig to arrive.  
  
"Any luck?" Mr. Hardy asked when Frank walked in the room.  
  
"Maybe," Frank replied. He related what the two orderlies had told him. "Can you get a list of the people who work here?" Frank asked.  
  
"Dr. Bates is getting it for us now," Mr. Hardy informed his son.  
  
"Mom, are you alright?" Frank asked his mother, sitting down on the bed beside her and putting an arm around her shoulders.  
  
"No, I'm not," she told him, sniffing. "Joe has been through so much and now, they have him again," she broke off, unable to continue as sobs took over.  
  
Frank's face paled as he looked up at his father. "What does she mean, 'they have him again'?"  
  
"One of the men in the cult, a Cameron Avery, wasn't in the round up," Mr. Hardy admitted.  
  
"Apparently, he had a disagreement with Douglas and left the day before...before..." he couldn't bring himself to say the day before Joe was to be sacrificed.  
  
"But if he left the cult?" Frank quiered, confused as to why his father was so upset. Surely, if the man had left the cult, this was a good thing?  
  
"According to Steve Vaugn, the red headed man who was next in line after Douglas, Avery was the man at the hardware store. He was the one who took the photographs of Joe," Mr. Hardy informed Frank.  
  
"But he quit," Frank persisted.  
  
"He quit because he had a disagreement with Douglas," Mr. Hardy told him. "Avery became obsessive about Joe. He took more pictures than he needed too. He started following Joe everywhere."  
  
"If that were the case, then why didn't Joe know he was being followed?" Frank demanded.  
  
"Avery was in the military. Special forces," Mr. Hardy told him as Dr. Bates entered the room with a computer print-out.  
  
Mr. Hardy took the print-out and laid it out for Frank and himself to look over. "One thing I learned from listening in on the interrogations is that these people steal other people's identities long enough to get what they need before moving on," Mr. Hardy stated.  
  
"So, we're looking for someone who just started working here after Joe was brought in," Frank said.  
  
"But if he were here just to kidnap Joe, he may not have worked here at all," Dr. Bates put in. "He could have stolen an orderly's uniform."  
  
"That's possible," Mr. Hardy agreed, not looking up from the print-out. "But he would need to know the quickest way out of the building and be able to do so with Joe. I'm guessing he would need some sort of authorization to do that."  
  
"Authorization he could only get if he worked here," Frank concurred. "Found it!" Frank shouted seconds later. "Paul Dempsey. Hired three days ago," he added, looking over at his dad.  
  
"Paul Dempsey?" questioned tall and graying Chief Collig, coming into the room followed by brown-headed, brown-eyed Sergeant Con Riley. Mr. Hardy brought the two officers up to speed on Joe's abduction.  
  
"Question everyone about Dempsey," Collig issued the order to Riley who left the room at once to inform the other two officers who had remained in the hall on their arival. "Does that have Dempsey's address?" Collig asked Frank.  
  
"1414 Paraguay Drive," Frank read it off. "It probably doesn't exist," he added and told them about Avery's previous alias and address.  
  
"We'll try it anyway," Collig said. "Now, tell me everything you remember about the orderly," he told Frank.  
  
Joe was wheeled out of his room and down the hallway to the elevator. Inside, the orderly pushed the button taking them down. Joe sat quietly, not really paying attention. Most people hated being in the hospital, but after the past few weeks, even the antiseptic smell was a welcome relief. Joe glanced at the top of the elevator where the floor number was lit. They should have arrived by now.  
  
Something was wrong, he decided. The elevator had not stopped on the main level. Instead, it was taking them down to the garage. He attempted to rise from his wheelchair but was too weak. He fell backwards. "Relax, Joe," the orderly told him, grinning down at him as he looked up. Joe saw the man's gold tooth and fear gripped him.  
  
Joe reached for the elevator button but the man was too fast. He grabbed Joe's hand and laid it back down on his lap. "Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "Be a good boy and this will all be over with before you know it."  
  
Joe started to struggle but the man reached into his white jacket and extracted a syringe. He jabbed the needle into Joe's bare arm. Within seconds, Joe was asleep.  
  
Avery wheeled Joe out to his car. He laid Joe in the back seat and tossed the wheelchair in the trunk. He doubted he would need it, but 'just in case,' he thought. He then got behind the wheel and took off. He realized he was going to have to get rid of his car. The Hardys were going to be on the look out for it in no time. Time to hit the garage, he decided.  
  
He had obtained the Monte Carlo from a garage in Southport only months before. It was amazing, but a lot of cars were towed whose owners just didn't want them anymore. Once the car had been at the garage for ninety days, an injunction could be placed on the car and the garage owner would become the new owner. But this usually involved a lot of red tape. Avery had found that if the price was right, the mechanic would forgo the required paperwork and simply, "lose" the automobile. The car would be untraceable. At least to me, Avery grinned at the thought.  
  
Avery reached the Bayport city limits and kept going. No, the Hardys would never find their son this time, he assured himself. Unlike those moronic cult members, he was a professional. He knew exactly what he could and couldn't do without getting caught. Hadn't he just taken Joe Hardy from under his dear brother's nose?  
  
If Douglas had agreed to his plan, Joe Hardy would have been sacrificed on schedule. But no. Now he would have to be primed all over again. The proper way to prime him this time. Joe Hardy must be desecrated, Avery repeated the words in his brain. The same words he had used to argue with Douglas. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Hi, can I see Joe?" asked seventeen-year-old Vanessa Bender, Joe's girlfriend of almost eight months. "I just came from the hospital and they said he was no longer a patient there," she added, pushing her long blond hair out of her face and looking at Mrs. Hardy with blue-grey eyes.  
  
Mrs. Hardy burst into tears and Vanessa quickly put an arm around her shoulders and entered the Hardy home, closing the door behind her.  
  
"What's wrong?" Vanessa demanded as Frank and Mr. Hardy came running into the foyer to see who had arrived, their faces anxious.  
  
"Joe was abducted from the hospital this morning," Frank told her, his voice strained. Like Frank, Vanessa had treated Joe poorly his last week at school. But unlike Frank, she had been duped into believing Joe was cheating on her. She had come to her senses and gone in search of Joe and Francessca only to discover that Francessca had been involved in kidnapping Joe for a sinsiter purpose.  
  
"What?" Vanessa asked, her voice sinking to a whisper. "Who?"  
  
Mrs. Hardy gave a violent sob and retreated upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her husband. "Who?" Vanessa demanded again, her voice growing stronger.  
  
"The guy who was posing as the hardware clerk," Frank answered. "He changed his appearance and got a job at the hospital as an orderly. When Joe regained consciousness this morning, Dr. Bates ordered some tests done. The orderly was supposed to take Joe to the lab but instead, he left with him."  
  
"What are you going to do?" Vanessa asked.  
  
"I'm going to jail," Frank said. Vanessa's face registered shock. "The one good thing about all of this is that the members didn't know all of the other members of the cult. Each member either wore a pentagram pendant or had a pentagram tattooed on their upper arm. I'm going to get a temporary tattoo and go to jail. Maybe I can learn something from the others that they haven't revealed during their interrogation."  
  
"After I drop Frank off at the station, I'm going to head over to the address Avery gave at the hospital. It's a long shot, but we have to check it out," Mr. Hardy said.  
  
"What can I do?" Vanessa asked, prepared to do anything asked of her.  
  
"Stay with mom?" Frank suggested. "She's taking this hard."  
  
"Can you blame her?" Vanessa countered. Frank shook his head. "I'll stay," she continued. "Just find Joe and bring him home."  
  
"You didn't tell her about Joe's voice," Mr. Hardy commented once they were in the car.  
  
Frank shrugged. "Maybe it will be back when we find him," he commented, his voice thick. "No point in worrying her even more."  
  
"Be careful in there," Mr. Hardy said, thinking about Frank going to jail undercover.  
  
"I will," Frank promised.  
  
"And remember, no matter what you hear, you are supposed to be one of them. You have to control your emotions," Mr. Hardy stressed.  
  
"I knew you knew more than you were telling," Frank said, turning on is father angrily. "Give!"  
  
Mr. Hardy told Frank about the bathing ritual Joe had endured every day. Then he mentioned the part about the animal blood being poured on Joe. Frank's face went white and he began to gag. Mr. Hardy pulled the car over and let Frank outside. A few minutes later, Frank got back in the car. His face was white and his stomach queasy, but he had to know. "What else?" he rasped, his anger at Joe's captors boiling over.  
  
"I'm not sure," Mr. Hardy admitted. "No one is talking about the final ritual, but the animals found at the scene after we left to go to the hospital had been skinned alive. It's a safe bet they made Joe watch, if he was conscious at that point in time."  
  
"And?" Frank pushed when his father fell into an uneasy silence. Mr. Hardy kept quiet. He had to tell Frank so he would know what to expect. But how was he supposed to break it to him? "Dad," Frank pressed. "Tell me."  
  
"Forensics said the blood on Joe belonged to the animals. There were even bits of animal hair embedded into Joe's skin," Mr. Hardy whispered, tears sliding down his cheeks.  
  
"What exactly are you saying?" Frank demanded.  
  
"The animals were probably rubbed against Joe's skin after they had been skinned. Possibly while they were still alive."  
  
When Joe awoke, he was lying on his back on a twin bed with a rail headboard. His legs were free but each wrist had been secured to one of the rails with a handcuff. Joe thought this was overkill since he didn't have the energy to sit up much less try to get away.  
  
Joe looked over at the door as it opened and a figure was silhouetted in the frame. "Ah, you're awake," said the man, flipping on the light switch and entering the bedroom.  
  
Joe watched him warily as he came nearer. Why had this man kidnapped him? What did he want? Joe's nerves were on edge. He had been through so much over the past month, especially near the end of his previous captivity, that he wasn't sure how much more he could take.  
  
Joe took in the brown hair and hazel eyes, and the square chin and began hyperventilating as the man spoke. "We need to get started. You must be properly prepared. You were spared before because they refused to desecrate you ," he continued. "It is your desecration which will give your soul to Satan."  
  
Joe's breathing became more labored. Why was this happening? Why hadn't they all been captured when he was rescued? How many more got away? Would he ever see his family again? These thoughts raced through his mind as Avery came over and held a hand over Joe's nose and mouth. Soon, Joe was breathing normally again.  
  
Avery left the room but returned almost immediately with a buffet cart. He rolled it over to the bedside and sat down beside Joe. He ripped the hospital gown from Joe's body and tossed it against the far wall. Joe breathed deeply, terrified of what this man was going to do to him. Joe couldn't remember what Francessca had called him in the hardware store, but it didn't matter. What was about to happen to him did.  
  
Avery pulled the cart as close to the bedside as he could then straddled Joe's waist. His weight kept Joe from thrashing about. "This is going to hurt," Avery warned him, reaching over to the cart and lifting a fine line marker. He drew a pentagram on Joe's chest, directly over his heart. "Now, lie still," Avery told Joe laying the pen down and picking up a some type of metal drawing gun. "This will hurt more if you try and move."  
  
At the police station, Frank was taken to the lab and a make-up artist was sent to help change his appearance. It was assumed that Frank would be well known since Joe had been under surveillance for some time so he would have to undergo a major transformation before being confined with the members of the cult.  
  
To begin, a temporary dye was used to turn his hair and eyebrows a jet black. Then his hair was styled to form a wave in the front. Next, he was given colored contacts that turned his beautiful brown eyes an icy blue. His skin was rubbed down with a berry mixture to make him darker and then he was given a pair of Levi's and a black tee shirt that was just tight enough to have his muscles ripple beneath it. To complete his disguise, a pentagram was painted onto the bicep of his left arm.  
  
Frank was then escorted to a cell that housed three other males of varying ages. One, Frank recognized right off the bat. It was Timothy Douglas, the so-called high priest of the cult.  
  
Douglas watched with a serious expression as the cell was opened and Frank was shoved inside. "I don't recognize you," Douglas said to Frank in a low voice.  
  
"I have been in Europe," Frank answered. "I was arrested when I arrived home. What happened?"  
  
"Who are you?" Douglas countered, suspicious of him.  
  
"Larry Madison," Frank answered, using the cover his dad had fixed for him earlier. Fred Madison had been a member of the cult and his son was in Europe on a student transfer program. Mr. Hardy had decided to do what the cult had done to get Joe; he stole the identity of the son of one of its members.  
  
"Fred's son," said one of the other two men, coming over. "So you're Larry. Your dad said you looked like your mother and I'll be damned if you don't. I'd know those eyes anywhere."  
  
Frank smiled at the man as Douglas put an arm around Frank's shoulders and led him over to a bunk to sit down. Frank fought the wave of nausea he felt at the man's touch and forced himself to relax. Douglas told Frank about the ceremony's interruption and their subsequent incarceration.  
  
"Too bad the sacrifice never happened," Frank said, almost choking over the words.  
  
"It will," Douglas assured him. "Cameron will see to it," he added, smiling.  
  
"Alone?" Frank demanded, acting surprised.  
  
"Cameron insisted the lamb must be desecrated before its sacrifice," Douglas informed Frank. "Since it was halted, he will be certain he was right and see to the desecration and demise of our, um, lamb," he ended, smiling.  
  
"Our Master will have what is his," added the man who had unwittingly help to establish Frank's cover. "His body and soul." 


	4. Chapter 4

Joe pulled his wrist down, trying to slip it out of the handcuff. He pulled harder, the metal scraping his skin as his wrist finally managed to come free. He tugged on his other wrist, trying to hold the cuff as he pulled his wrist out. Free, his arms dropped to the bed and he lay still for a moment; trying to muster enough strength to escape before his captor returned.  
  
Finally, he sat up, gripping the edges of the bed as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He prayed he could make it out of there as he stood up and took a step toward the bedroom door. He fell at once, his legs unable to support him. Not giving up, Joe crawled toward the door. Rising a bit and resting his weight against the door, Joe turned the knob. The door opened, removing the support for Joe's body and he fell to the floor. He picked himself up with the support of an end table by his side and moved forward a couple of feet.  
  
His eyes lit up as he saw a phone sitting on the coffee table. He took another step and fell down again. Drained, he remained where he was. He reached out an arm and snagged the phone's cord, pulling it to him. The phone tumbled to the floor and Joe kept pulling on the cord until it was within his grasp. He dialed his home number, all his thoughts on getting help.  
  
"Hello," the phone was answered on the second ring. Joe's eyes began to tear as he heard the welcome voice of his girlfriend on the other end. "Hello," she said again. Joe opened his mouth to tell her he needed help, but no sound came out. His tears of joy became tears of frustration.  
  
"Look, buddy, if you can't talk why are you calling?" Vanessa demanded hotly, getting ready to hang up. Mrs. Hardy who was sitting beside Vanessa on the bed heard this and snatched the phone from Vanessa's hand before she had dropped it onto it's cradle.  
  
"Joe! Joe, is this you?" Mrs. Hardy cried into the phone, her blue eyes wide with hope. No sound came forth. "Honey, if it is, hit one of the buttons," she instructed.  
  
Joe said a silent "Thank You, God," and pushed one button.  
  
"Run to Fenton's office," Mrs. Hardy ordered Vanessa. "Use his line to have this call traced." Vanessa took off running. "Baby, it's okay. We'll be there in no time," Mrs. Hardy promised her son, tears flowing down her cheeks.  
  
Joe breathed a sigh of relief as he lay on the floor. He had dropped the phone but he could still hear his mother's comforting voice. It was going to be over, he thought. He was going to go home. Tears flowed freely as he concentrated on this thought. But wait! Something was wrong. He heard something that wasn't his mother's voice. Footsteps! 'Oh God, no,' Joe begged as the door opened and his captor stood framed in the doorway, looking down at Joe lying in the floor, the phone beside him.  
  
"Well, now," Avery stated, walking over to stand by Joe. "You are much more resourceful than I gave your credit for," he replied, bending down and scooping Joe up. "I guess it's time to move again."  
  
Mrs. Hardy, hearing the man speak, started screaming into the phone. "Leave him alone, you Bastard! Leave my son alone!" she screamed, her anguish seeping into her voice. "Leave him alone!" she screamed again as Vanessa came running back into the bedroom. She saw Mrs. Hardy falling apart. Saw the receiver drop from her hands to the floor as Mrs. Hardy fell to the floor after it, sobbing uncontrolably.  
  
Mr. Hardy arrived at the address Avery had listed less than ten minutes after dropping Frank off at the police station. Chief Collig was there with one of his officers. Chief Collig looked at Mr. Hardy as he entered the house. "I'm sorry, Fenton," he said, his voice filled with sadness. "This place has been deserted for sometime."  
  
Mr. Hardy had expected this but none-the-less, the chief's words brought a wave of disappointment. "What about the car?" he queried. "Has anyone seen it?"  
  
Chief Collig shook his head and started to speak when his radio went off. He turned away briefly then turned back around, his eyes showing relief that he had one bit of good news for the distraught father. "The car was just found on Vine Street," he informed Mr. Hardy. "You follow us," he instructed, leading the way out of the house, followed closely by Mr. Hardy and the forensics officer, Chad Jerome.  
  
Arriving at Vine Street, Mr. Hardy hurriedly got out of his car and rushed over to the vehicle. He wanted to search the car himself but Officer Jerome was already busy placing hairs in a sandwich bag using a pair of tweezers.  
  
"We know who had him," Mr. Hardy told Collig, chaffing at the wait as he stared fixedly at the car.  
  
"We have to..." Chief Collig began.  
  
"Do it by the book," Mr. Hardy ended resignedly. "I know. It's just..." he broke off, running a hand through his hair.  
  
Chief Collig put a hand on Mr. Hardy's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He wished there was something he could do, but right now, they had nothing to go on.  
  
When Mr. Hardy was finally allowed to search the car, he gave special attention to the back seat, sure this was where Joe had been put. He knew his son well enough to know that had Joe been able, he would have left something to let him know were he was being taken or at least that he was still alive. But there was nothing. He backed out of the car, dejected.  
  
Mr. Hardy climbed back into his own car and headed home. He only hoped Frank was having better luck.  
  
Pulling into the drive at the corner of High and Elm streets, Mr. Hardy killed the motor and sat quietly for a moment. How was he going to tell Laura he hadn't been able to find anything? Taking a deep breath and resigning himself to having to divulge no good news, he got out of the car and walked up the steps to the house.  
  
He opened the front door and was immediately accosted by the heart-wrenching sobbing of his wife. He ran up the stairs and into their bedroom. He found his wife on the floor, her head lying on her arms as she cried and an extremely pale Vanessa sitting beside her.  
  
"What's happened?" Mr. Hardy rasped, his eyes wide with fear.  
  
"Joe called," Vanessa whispered, too confused and upset to speak any louder. "At least, Mrs. Hardy thought it was Joe. She had me use the phone in your office to trace it," Vanessa explained. "When I came back in here, she was screaming and crying like this and she hasn't quit," Vanessa ended.  
  
"Did you get a trace?" Mr. Hardy demanded hoarsely, forgetting about his wife for the moment.  
  
Vanessa nodded and handed Mr. Hardy a slip of paper. "It's in Southport."  
  
"The police?" queried Mr. Hardy.  
  
"The operator said she would alert them," Vanessa answered.  
  
Mr. Hardy grabbed onto Laura's arm and pulled her to her feet and into his arms as Vanessa lifted the phone to her ear briefly before hanging it up. "What happened?" Mr. Hardy asked his wife a few minutes later after her sobs had subsided a little.  
  
Mrs. Hardy told him about Joe calling and how she had him hit a button to indicate it was him. Then she repeated what she had heard Avery say and started crying again.  
  
"Why didn't Joe speak?" Vanessa demanded, her own cheeks stained with tears.  
  
Mr. Hardy told her about the injections. "But this is still good," he insisted.  
  
"How can you say that?" Mrs. Hardy shouted at him, pulling back from him in shock.  
  
"Because this is the first real lead we have gotten," Mr. Hardy explained. "The last two addresses we had for Avery didn't pan out. At least we know he has been here," he added, holding up the slip of paper as a car could be heard pulling into the drive below. He looked over at Vanessa. "You two stay here," he ordered. "I'll run down and let the officer in," he said, sure it was the police he had heard arrive.  
  
Holding Joe in a fireman's carry, Avery lugged Joe out of the apartment and down the steps to a black Chevette. He tossed Joe in the back and started the motor.  
  
As he pulled away from the building, Avery cursed silently becuase he hadn't had time to clear anything out. He had even left the roll of film he had just filled lying on the table near where the phone had been. At least he still had his camera, he thought with a relieved sigh.  
  
He glanced in the back seat at the boy who had once again lost consciousness. Where could he take him for the next rite? He smiled to himself then made a U-turn in the road and headed back in the direction of Bayport. 


	5. Chapter 5

Douglas was removed for questioning a little later and while he was gone, all occupants of the cell were moved to different cells so Frank's departure would go unnoticed. Frank returned to the lab where all evidence of his visit was erased except for the dye on his skin, which would have to wear off.  
  
While he was removing his disguise, Chief Collig entered the lab and told him of the phone call Mrs. Hardy had received. "What's the address?" Frank demanded, his eyes set and his muscles tense.  
  
"Relax," Chief Collig told him. "Your dad is out front. Sheriff Dixon is going to meet you two at the apartment in an hour."  
  
Frank nodded, pulled on his shirt and bade the chief goodbye as he ran for the door. He jumped into his dad's waiting car less than two minutes later and the two were off.  
  
They arrived at the address Vanessa had given Mr. Hardy forty minutes later. Sheriff Dixon had entered the premises and looked for its occupants but finding no one there, had exited the apartment and gone outside to wait for Mr. Hardy and his son.  
  
The three men went into the apartment. A small town, Southport had no special Forensics team as had the bustling seaside town of Bayport, nor had it as many men on the force. The entire Southport police department consisted of Sheriff Dixon and five deputies. The sheriff had been delighted to have the help of an ex-policeman who knew how to search the scene of a crime without destroying evidence.  
  
Entering the apartment, the Hardy's were unsurprised to find the phone on the floor and the receiver lying by the set. There was dried blood on the floor but not enough to overly concerned about. They searched the living room and found nothing useful. The tables were bare except for a lamp and the television remote. No papers of any kind could be seen. A search of the kitchen yielded several bottles of wine and a bunch of grapes. An empty sack from a local fast food joint was in the trash along with a half-eaten hamburger and an empty fry bag.  
  
It was obvious to the Hardys that the meal had been Avery's and the wine and grapes were for Joe. Entering the bedroom, Mr. Hardy stopped and sucked in his breath. "Stay there," he ordered Frank, taking another step into the room.  
  
Sure there was something his father didn't want him to see, Frank ignored the command and entered the room anyway. He saw the handcuffs still attached to the rail of the headboard with dried blood on them. He took in the hospital gown lying in the floor across the room and winced as he thought about what Avery had been doing to Joe. Then he noticed his father trying to hide something from his view.  
  
Frank walked over to his dad and placed his hands firmly on his father's shoulders. He pushed him aside so he could see what his dad hadn't wanted him to see.  
  
Lying on a buffet cart was a bottle of ink, a stencil of a pentagram and a mechanism Frank recognised as being a tattoo gun. "He gave him a tattoo?" he asked, not expecting an answer and receiving none.  
  
Frank turned and headed out of the bedroom. This had to be part of the desecration Douglas had mentioned, Frank thought. Permanently damaging Joe's skin with the mark of their sect. He kicked the sofa in anger. The sofa scooted back and a roll of film came into view.  
  
Frank bent down to retrieve it. "Dad!" he shouted, standing up with the undeveloped roll of film in his hand. Mr. Hardy and the sheriff came hurrying back into the living room.  
  
"Is there somewhere we can get this developed at once?" Mr. Hardy asked the sheriff, looking at the film.  
  
"John Meyer," Dixon answered at once. "I'll run it over to him now and have it back here in no time," he offered, holding out his hand for the roll. Frank gave it to him and the man departed at once.  
  
"What do we do while we wait?" Frank asked, not wanting to stay in the apartment any longer than necessary. He could just imagine the silent pleas of his brother as he was being tattooed by Avery. And every scream he imagined ripped through Frank's mind with such clarity he almost covered his ears to stop the anguished cries.  
  
"Let's question some of the occupants of the other apartments," Mr. Hardy suggested. "Maybe someone saw something."  
  
There were five more apartments in the building but only three appeared to have any occupants. Mr. Hardy took the first occupied apartment to the right of Avery's and knocked on the door while Frank took the one to the left.  
  
Frank knocked on the door and heard a distinctive tap tap followed by an occassional shuffle as a shoe scrapped across a wooden floor with a cane. He stepped back from the door a bit so the occupant could see him clearly through the spy hole. A minute later, the door opened a crack and Frank could see the saftey chain still latched as the nose and an eye peered out at him.  
  
"What do you want?" demanded the gruff voice of an old lady.  
  
"I was wondering if you could tell me something about the tennant in Apartment Three," Frank said.  
  
"I mind my own business," the woman snapped. "And so should you."  
  
"It is my business," Frank replied. "He kidnapped my brother."  
  
The door closed and seconds later, reopened entirely. "Come in," invited the lady. Frank entered the apartment. She pushed the door behind her but before it could close, Mr. Hardy appeared and pushed it back open. The woman looked frightened until she got a look at his face.  
  
"This is my father," Frank quickly made the introduction.  
  
"You two look alike," she commented.  
  
"Fenton Hardy," Mr. Hardy said, holding out his hand. The woman put her hand in his and he grasped it briefly before releasing it.  
  
"And your name?" she asked, turning to look at Frank.  
  
"Frank Hardy, ma'am," he answered. "My brother's name is Joe."  
  
"A sickly boy with blond hair?" she inquired.  
  
Mr. Hardy winced at her choice of words. "Yes," he rasped. It was hard to accept that Joe was indeed only a shadow of his former self.  
  
"My name is Martha Myer," she introduced herself. "What did you want to know?"  
  
"Can you tell us anything about the man who took my son?" Mr. Hardy entreated.  
  
"Come, sit down," she said, closing the door and slowly making her way to the sofa. Once seated, Martha looked at the two men with compassion. "They left about an hour ago, maybe a little more," she began. "He was carrying the boy. The boy, Joe, had on a pair of boxer shorts but nothing else. He looked very sick. What's wrong with him?"  
  
"Do you know what kind of car he was driving?" Frank asked, not wanting to go into the heinous details of Joe's ordeal.  
  
"A black Chevette."  
  
Avery pulled the Chevette off the road and stopped behind a thicket of bushes. Dusk had descended on the trip back to Bayport and his destination, in a small township just on the other side of Bayport, was almost guaranteed to be deserted once darkness arrived.  
  
He got out of the little black car, thinking he would ditch it after he left here. He opened the back and latched onto a pair of feet and pulled. He picked up the unconscious youth and carried him into the graveyard. 


	6. Chapter 6

Avery carried Joe into the graveyard and laid him down near a cross. "Sorry, lamb," he apologized to the unconscious youth. "I forgot to bring a shovel," he said, pulling off his belt. He bent down and lifted Joe's hands above his head. Wrapping them around the base of the cross, he used his belt to tie Joe's hands together.  
  
"You just stay right here," he told Joe, smiling. "I'll be back in no time to dig your grave."  
  
Sheriff Dixon returned an hour and a half later with the pictures from the film Frank had found. "Maybe you'd better sit down before you look at these," he told the Hardys, who were waiting outside after having finished talking with Ms. Meyer.  
  
Frank swallowed and sat down. How bad is it? he wondered, his thoughts echoing those of his father who sat stone-faced beside him.  
  
The sheriff handed the pictures to Mr. Hardy and Frank looked at them with his father. The first two were pictures of Joe hanging on the cross at the sacrificial ritual. There were two more pictures of Joe's rescue, six pictures of Joe in the hospital, and the rest were of Joe on a bed with various stages of a tattoo being imprinted on him.  
  
"He's one sick son of a bitch," Sheriff Dixon commented on Joe's captor.  
  
Mr. Hardy told Sheriff Dixon what they had learned from talking with Mrs.Myer. He promised to alert the authorities in surrounding towns and bid the Hardys goodbye--allowing them to take the photographs and give them to Chief Collig.  
  
Mr. Hardy and Frank headed back to Bayport, neither of them talking. They pulled off the interstate and headed down the street toward town.  
  
"Stop!" Frank shouted, sitting up straight and turning his head to stare out the back window.  
  
"What is it?" Mr. Hardy demanded, doing as Frank had commanded.  
  
"In front of the hardware store," Frank told him. "A black Chevette."  
  
Joe gave a silent groan and opened his eyes. He shivered in the chilly night air and looked to see where he was. The ambiance of the darkened cemetery caused him to shiver again.  
  
He tried to move his arms but found they were tied together although his feet remained free. He twisted his wrists a bit and, although he couldn't see from the position he was in, knew it was a belt securing them.  
  
Here we go again, thought Joe, trying to slip his wrists from the leather.  
  
Mr. Hardy pulled next to the store and let Frank get out before turning the car around. He was going to park beside the black Chevette. Frank reached the entrance to the hardware store and opened the door. Frank gave a silent groan as a bell dinged, announcing his presence. He stood still, his eyes searching the store from left to right, seeking movement.  
  
"Can I help you?" asked a man almost six inches shorter than Frank's own six foot one, as he came from the aisle at Frank's right.  
  
"Where is the man who owns the black Chevette outside?" Frank asked. He didn't see anyone in the store but this man.  
  
"That's mine," the clerk declared, his green eyes clouding over. "Was it hit?"  
  
"No, nothing like that," Frank denied with a single shake of his head. "I'm looking for a man, my height, early forties with hazel eyes and a gold tooth. He was last seen driving a car like yours."  
  
"Sorry, I haven't seen anyone like that," the man told Frank. "And as for black Chevettes, well, I've only seen one other recently."  
  
"Where?" Frank demanded.  
  
"At Hampton's Garage off of Highway 94," the clerk answered. "Seems to me, though, it wasn't there the last time I drove by," he added, his forehead creased thoughtfully.  
  
"Thank you," Frank said as he saw his father sneak in the store through the back. "You've been a tremendous help." Frank looked over at his dad. "We can go now," he said.  
  
The proprietor turned and looked at Mr. Hardy. "I didn't hear you come in," he apologized.  
  
"He came in with me," Frank said, explaining why the bell had only rang once.  
  
After Frank and Mr. Hardy had returned to their car, Frank told his dad about the garage where the clerk had seen the other black Chevette. The two decided to check out the garage.  
  
By the time Joe had managed to work his wrists free, he was panting. It had been a long time since his captor had given him anything to drink and even the wine had done nothing but to help perpetuate his unquenchable thirst.  
  
Too weak form his most recent ordeal coupled with his last one, he hadn't the energy to even try to stand. Instead, he began crawling toward the cemetery's exit. He knew exactly where he was. His father's parents were buried here.  
  
He had almost reached the gate when a pair of size eleven shoes came to a stop in front of his face. Joe looked up then fell onto his stomach, laying his head on the ground. Why does it always have to be so hard? he wondered as his captor stepped to the side, lifted one of Joe's legs and dragged him back into the depths of the graveyard, past the cross where he had been tied and all the way to the twin tombstones which marked the graves of his grandparents.  
  
Mr. Hardy and Frank arrived at Hampton's Garage almost an hour later. No Chevette, black or otherwise. They exited the vehicle and looked around the garage. "Look, they have a twenty-four hour tow number," Frank said, pointing to the side of a tow truck which sat in the lot. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in the numbers as his father used his own to call the police.  
  
It was almost one a.m. when the police and the garage owner arrived. The owner, Jake Hampton, admitted to selling a black Chevette to a man answering Avery's descrtiption. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he said he would take his chances on the condition. He mentioned something about getting a car from a garage a few years back and felt he got a better deal than at a dealership," Jake informed them.  
  
"Makes sense," said Officer Moran. "The Chief traced the car we found earlier to a garage in East Bridge. Looks like he may obtain all of his vehicles this way. We'll alert all the garages in this and surrounding counties to be on the lookout for Avery," he ended.  
  
Mr. Hardy thanked him and the garage owner for being so helpful, then he and Frank went home for some much needed rest.  
  
"Al..most...done, little lamb," Avery said to Joe as he pushed out another pile of dirt.  
  
Avery had sat Joe near his grandfather's grave and had him watch as a few feet of dirt had been dug from the top of it.  
  
Joe had no idea what his captor had planned for him and he was rapidly reaching the point where he didn't care. He just wanted it to be over, even if it meant he had to die.  
  
Avery tossed the shovel aside and pulled a flask from his pocket and opened it. "Time for dinner," he told Joe, holding the flask up to Joe's mouth and forcing the wine down his throat.  
  
Joe coughed once, then sat quietly, anxious to get whatever he had planned over with but terrified of what it might be.  
  
"Beddy-bye time," Avery said with a smile, closing the flask and returning it to his pocket before bending back down. He rolled Joe into the shallow grave he had dug on top of Marshall Hardy's grave.  
  
Joe looked up into his captor's face in fear; his breath coming out in short gasps as tears fell from his eyes. "No, please, no," he begged, although no sound made it's way from Joe's throat.  
  
As Joe lay helpless, Avery grabbed the shovel and began covering Joe with dirt. When he had finished, Joe could not move. His legs, arms, even his ears, eyes and mouth had been covered with dirt. Only his nostrils remained free of earth in order to breathe in the night air. 


	7. Chapter 7

"Let go of me!" Frank screamed to the figures clad in black cloaks which held him. He pulled his arms as hard as he could, struggling to free himself, but to no avail. He watched, helpless, as his brother was secured to a wooden cross with thick strips of leather.  
  
"AHHHHHH!" Joe screamed in pain, his head pressed back against the cross, his eyes squeezed shut tight as one of the cloaked figures plunged a jeweled silver dagger into his open palm. The blood poured down into a silver goblet which the figure held. Once it had been filled and started overflowing, the man lifted the goblet to his mouth and drank.  
  
"No, please, no!" Frank begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Stop! Let me help him!"  
  
"You can't help him," said the figure who had just drank of Joe's blood as he came closer to Frank. "You can't help him unless he asks you."  
  
Frank looked up at his brother, his lips were moving but no sound came out. "He's asking," Frank cried. "Let me help him. He's asking."  
  
"I can't hear him," the cloaked man said, standing directly in front of Frank. "You can't help him," he taunted Frank. "You wanted him to help himself."  
  
"You can't stop me from helping him!" Frank declared, pulling his arms free. He started toward Joe but froze almost immediately.  
  
"What's wrong?" the cloaked figure demanded of Frank, laughing almost hysterically.  
  
"Stop it!" Frank cried out. "I'm going to help him even if he never asks for my help!" he shouted. "And you can't stop me."  
  
The cloaked man ceased laughing and raised his blood-stained hands to his hood. He lowered the hood and looked into Frank's face. Frank stared at himself. 'It can't be! I'm the only one stopping me. I did this to Joe!'  
  
Frank jerked awake and sat up in bed. Tears ran down his cheeks as he gasped for breath and waited for his heart to cease it's erratic beat. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Laying his head on top of his knees, he wept.  
  
The shrill ringing of the phone awoke Mr. Hardy at seven a.m. He had tossed and turned most of the night, finally giving in to exhaustion and falling into a dreamless sleep.  
  
Mr. Hardy reached over and plucked the phone from it's cradle, hope taking hold that Joe had been found mingled with the fear that it was too late.  
  
"We've got a lead on Avery," Sergeant Con Riley's voice came through the receiver.  
  
"Tell me," ordered Mr. Hardy, sitting up in bed, his pulse racing. Mrs. Hardy, also awakened by the phone, sat up and watched her husband's face as he listened.  
  
"When we reached the owner of Crawhaven Towing Service to let him know to watch out for Avery, he told us he saw a man matching Avery's description late last night. He traded a black Chevette and paid three hundred dollars for a four door Plymoth Reliant," Con informed him. "He left, heading in the direction of Signet."  
  
"Signet?" Mr. Hardy repeated the name of the small township just outside of the Bayport city limits. The town was small, having only one hardware store, a gas station, one restaurant, a church and a graveyard. There were no apartments, motels or hotels in the area.  
  
"Thanks Con," Mr. Hardy said. "I'll get Frank and we'll head out there."  
  
Joe felt his captor make sure his nostrils were left exposed to the night air and then....nothing. He couldn't hear, see or feel anything but the earth covering him. It was impossible for him to move; the dirt had been packed solidly around him.  
  
Joe tried to lift his hands to move the dirt from around him, but try as he might, he found it impossible to budge an inch. He felt himself starting to hyperventilate. He found it hard to breathe and yet, breathe he did. Why had he been ensconed in the ground? Was he to lay here for days; weeks maybe, before he died? He tried again to move his arms, his legs, anything.  
  
The pressure of the dirt was nothing compared to the weight which began to press on his mind. The total silence combined with the absolute darkness and the inability to move, left him alone with the one thing he dreaded the most; his own thoughts. Even as a prisoner of the cult, he hadn't really been alone. Given the rituals he had endured daily, he hadn't really had time to concentrate on himself or on Frank.  
  
Ever since he and Frank had quarreled and Frank had insisted Joe take care of himself, he had been afraid to take time to think. Granted, he and Frank had made up...to a point. Frank didn't want to worry about Joe. He wanted his own life and Joe was no longer an integral part of that life. This realization had wounded him deeply.  
  
What had he done to make Frank want to sever the closeness they shared? Had he done something so reprehesible that Frank didn't want him as his best friend anymore? Obviously, they had to remain brothers. But had he done something to turn Frank against him? Sure, he said not, but maybe he had just said that for their parents' sake. Joe knew their parents had been worrying about them. Frank must have known too. Could Joe have done something bad and not realized it? Was everything that had been happening to him his fault? Or...was it Frank's? The thought came unbidden.  
  
If Frank hadn't been so distant, would he have seen Joe was getting into trouble? Of course he would. Frank always knew when someone was using Joe. Would he still have become friends with Francessca if Frank had been around to warn him? Probably, Joe admitted to himself. He had never let anyone, even Frank, dictate who he should or shouldn't have as friends. But if Frank had been there, doing what he always did, looking out for him, Joe would be safe at camp now. He never would have been kidnapped in the first place. He was sure of it.  
  
No wonder Frank didn't want Joe in his life as much as he had been. He did depend entirely too much on Frank. He was a burden. This thought hit him with a wave of self-pity. I'm useless, he thought. If I were Frank, I would dump me too. I even nearly got his girlfriend killed.  
  
He tried to remember what had happened in the cave, but no matter how hard he tried, his last conscious thought was of Callie seeing him during the bathing ritual. Was that why Frank had been in the hospital when he awoke? Was Callie in the hospital and he had just come to visit Joe for a brief time while their parents got some rest? Even his memory of his time in the hospital was fuzzy. Or maybe, Frank had changed his mind about helping him? Probably not. Frank was nothing if not stubborn. Most people thought Joe was stubborn but that was only because he was stubborn about the wrong things. Frank made up his mind and it usually took an act of God to change it. He was just usually right which is why most people didn't realize it.  
  
No, most likely, Frank was back at Bayport University. His dad was his only chance of rescue. Would his dad find him? Joe had managed to call home. Surely they had traced the call. There must have been something in the apartment where he had been to give them a clue as to who had taken him. But, they had left. What if his captor never returned to the apartment? How would they know where to start looking? And even if they caught him, would he tell his dad where to find him? Probably not.  
  
The hopelessness of his situation was beginning to sink in. He felt tears slip from the corners of his eyes, mixing with the dirt and giving him the feeling of something crawling over his skin. Would he never again see his brother; his parents? Would he die here, a mere extension of his grandfather? No one would ever think to look for his body on top of his own grandfather's grave. Would they keep looking for him; wondering every day what had happened to him and if he were alone or scared? Would they consider him dead? Would they have a funeral with an empty casket, not even looking for him? The irony of the scenario hit him. He would really be buried only feet away from his empty casket. He wondered what someone would think if they knew. He found it disturblingly hilarious.  
  
How dare this man do this? What made him think he could do the things he had done to him and get away with it? Surely he knew his dad would punish him....if he were to ever get caught.  
  
Maybe Frank had done the right thing. If they weren't so close, then Frank wouldn't have to mourn so much. He knew his family, Frank included, would be very upset. But, the further apart they were emotionally, the less it would hurt. I'm sorry, Frank. I shouldn't have gotten angry at you for wanting to live your own life without worrying about me. Have a good life. But please....don't forget me. Remember all the good times we shared. All the fun and laughter. Your first kiss....you really got mad at me for taking a picture and then you made mom have it enlarged and put it on your nightstand. My first date...you practically dragged me out of the house and into the car, then teased me about it after we got home because I didn't want to go home after the dance. How can you forget? How could he forget? The thought repeated itself.  
  
NO! It can't end this way. All the torture, all the humiliation I went through, just to die in my grandfather's grave? Why had that bastard dug up his grandfather's grave anyway? There were lots of other places he could have buried him. Did it just give him some kind of sick thrill to desecrate a grave? His grandfather was dead. He didn't deserve to have his eternal slumber disturbed this way.  
  
Wait. Why hadn't he been buried completely? Suffocation would have been as bad as thirst, although it wouldn't have lasted as long. And why had he given him the wine to drink before burying him? He had already been thirsty. Why did his captor keep calling him lamb? He had to have something more in store for him. Of course! He isn't going to let me die here, Joe realized. This is just another ritual to be put through. Only the first day, he thought. The others had kept him for weeks. Was that his intention too? If so, how long? And what else must he endure before he would finally be allowed to die?  
  
And after he was dead, then what? Would this madman go after Frank? He still didn't know why he had been chosen as a sacrifice. Was it because he and Frank helped people out? No, that couldn't be it. Francessca had never made any move to want Frank around. Just him. He should have realized something wasn't quite right about her. Frank would have....had he been around.  
  
Frank! Damn it! This is your fault. You are just so stubborn! Well, you are going to have a lot to answer for. When I get out of this mess I am going to show you that you need me just as much as I need you. This could have been you here, you know. What about that?  
  
How am I going to get out of here? There's no way I can dig myself out, I can't even move. But, he'll be back. He'll dig me out and take me somewhere else. He has other things planned for me. How am I going to get away? Everytime I try, he is there waiting to crush my hope and bring me back. What am I........Of course! After he takes me somewhere else. After he does whatever it is he is planning on doing to me, I must get free again. But, I can't escape. If I try and leave, he will capture me. But if he thinks I am ready to accept my fate, maybe he'll ease up a bit or at least not be so omnipresent.  
  
Could it work? It has too. It's my only chance. I can do this. I have to do this. It's up to me. You'll see big brother, I can take care of myself. I need you...not what you do for me. And you need me. You'll see....... 


	8. Chapter 8

Joe felt the sun penetrate his eyelids and blinked them open as dirt was pushed away from his ears. "Morning, little lamb," Avery said, leering down at him.  
  
Joe looked up into hazel eyes, his own blue ones deliberately devoid of any emotion, and forced himself to smile. Avery gasped and paused in his task. Then his face became one big smile. It's working, Avery thought happily, as he continued digging Joe out.  
  
Mr. Hardy and Frank arrived at the gas station in Signet just after sun-up. Mr. Hardy pulled to a stop beside the pump and asked Frank to fill it up while he went inside. Once there, he went straight to the counter.  
  
"Tom Carlysle," Mr. Hardy greeted the attendant. "Are you still working for McBride?" he greeted the clerk with a friendly smile.  
  
"Fenton Hardy," Carlysle returned the greeting, a big welcoming smile onhis face. "I haven't seen you 'cepting in the paper for going on twenty years now."  
  
"It has been a long time," Mr. Hardy agreed. He remembered stopping here for gas on his way into Bayport at least once a week after he had obtained his driving license. He had been born at Bayport Memorial, the nearest hospital, but raised on a small farm in Signet.  
  
"I bought this place from McBride about two years ago," Carlysle answered Mr. Hardy's question. "What brings you this way?" he added his question with a curious twinkle in his blue eyes.  
  
"I'm looking for someone who was last seen heading this way," Mr. Hardy informed him. "He's six foot one with hazel eyes. His hair was brown but it culd have been dyed. He was driving a blue Plymoth Reliant."  
  
"I've seen him," Carlysle admitted. "Why are you looking for him? Did he rob a bank or something?"  
  
"He kidnapped my youngest son," Mr. Hardy replied truthfully, his eyes weary. "When did you see him? Did he have a teen-age boy with him?"  
  
Carlysle stood up straight, his blue eyes darkening. "That scum-bag!" he snarled loudly. "I saw him last night at Phil's," he told Mr. Hardy, naming the owner of the hardware store. "He was buying a shovel."  
  
Mr. Hardy's face went white and he grasped the counter for support. The bell rang announcing another customer. It was Frank. "Dad!" he exclaimed, seeing his father leaning heavily on the counter and looking pale. He rushed over to his side at once.  
  
Mr. Hardy released the counter and took Frank's arm, squeezing it both to comfort Frank, and himself. "Do you know where he went after he left the hardware store?" Mr. Hardy asked Carlysle.  
  
"Sorry," he answered. "I'll call Phil and see if he can tell me anything," he added, picking up the phone and dialing Phillip Moore's home phone. When he hung up, he knew no more than he had before.  
  
Again, the bell rang. Mr. Hardy pulled out his wallet and paid for the gas. "If you see him or the car again, call the police immediately," he entreated.  
  
"Who are you looking for?" asked a middle-aged, woman with short blond hair.  
  
"A fellow driving a blue Reliant," Carlysle answered for the Hardys, then went on to give her the description he had been given.  
  
"I saw that car this morning," the woman said. "On my way into town. It was parked out near the cemetery."  
  
Frank was having a hard time breathing but that was nothing compared to his father. "Call the sheriff and the Bayport police," Frank ordered the clerk. "Tell them to go to the cemetery."  
  
Frank helped his father outside and into the passenger side of the car. As Frank got in behind the wheel, Mr. Hardy did his best to stop hyperventilating. "Are you going to be all right?" Frank asked as he pulled out onto the two lane road and headed toward the cemetery. He had never seen his father this shaken-up.  
  
Mr. Hardy nodded as he rolled down the window. "It's just so unfair," he rasped, his eyes shining. "He went through so much and we got him back and now..." he quit speaking, unable to say what he was thinking.  
  
"He's not dead," Frank said sharply. "Douglas said Avery would...would desecrate Joe; make his soul Satan's. He won't kill him until that happens and it won't. Not ever! Joe could never be bad. Avery isn't even giving him a chance too. Unless..."  
  
"Unless he just meant to take away Joe's innocence," Mr. Hardy finished for him. "But why did he need a shovel? And why take him to the graveyard?"  
  
They finished the trip in silence. Frank pulled to a stop just outside the cemetery gates. "I'll go in the front, you take the back," Mr. Hardy told Frank. "I'll give you five minutes to get there."  
  
"Make it three," Frank said, taking off at a run. He entered the back of the graveyard three minutes later and stood still, listening for a sound to indicate someone was inside.  
  
Hearing nothing, he looked around. An older cemetery, this one was not flat and pristine like those in the city. Instead, there were graves scattered over four acres of land with trees and thick brush hiding some of the gravesites. Frank headed off to the left, not exactly sure why, but he had a gut feeling if Joe were here, it would be near their grandparents' graves.  
  
Perhaps Avery had brought Joe here to scare him, Frank thought as he made his way further into the graveyard. But, no, he realized, there had to be more to it than that. But what would Avery have brought Joe here for except to bury him? Maybe Douglas had been wrong. Maybe Avery just planned on killing Joe outright and even now his lifeless body was lying in a shallow grave. But why would he bury him on hallowed ground?  
  
Frank passed a large oak tree and came to a shocked standstill. What little color he had drained from his face as he made his way closer to the grave that was his grandfather's. He fell to his knees beside the grave, tears falling as he saw the distinctive outline of his brother's body where he had lain.  
  
"Little lamb, are you ready for breakfast?" Avery asked Joe, sitting down on a sofa in the living room. Joe said not a word but never turned away when his captor looked into his eyes.  
  
Joe knew where they were. Oh, the appearance had changed, the outside was now a colonial blue and the inside had been completely redecorated, but the structure was the same. He had to give the guy credit; he had done his homework. Not only had he known where Marshall and Alice Hardy had been buried, but he also knew where they had lived.  
  
Joe wondered as he watched Avery pour wine into a glass if he would be put in his grandfather's old room or his dad's. Then again, perhaps this man knew where to find Hooligan's grave. Hooligan had been his father's pet Huskie. He had gotten into a fight with a mountain lion some twenty odd years ago and although he had gotten away, he had died later that night. He remembered his grandmother telling him how heartbroken his dad had been when it had happened.  
  
Joe doubted this man had found that out but he knew he was in for more torture. He only wished he knew what to expect so he could prepare himself. If his plan were going to succeed, he couldn't let fear or pain, or any emotion for that matter, overtake him.  
  
Joe accepted the glass from his tormentor and downed the contents quickly. It really didn't quench his thirst, but it was wet. He wasn't hungry. He hadn't had any real food since his last day at home and he had ceased wanting to eat near the end of his first week of captivity.  
  
Joe returned the glass and looked around the room wondering where the current owners were. It became obvious this is where his abductor had spent the night for he knew his way around. He pulled Joe to his feet and half carried him down the hallway to the master bedroom. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling Joe with him.  
  
Joe barely managed to control the gasp, which threatened to alter his features as he caught sight if a man and woman, presumably the owners, through the open bathroom door. They were sitting, their hands tied behind them, on stools in the center of a large tub. The faucet was dripping and it was obvious there was water near their feet. Lying over the edge of the tub was a cord, which was plugged into the wall. Should either of the people attempt to get up or fall from their perch, they would be electrocuted.  
  
Avery dragged Joe over to the bed and pushed him down. The bedspread had been turned down to reveal a set of pristine white satin sheets, but once Joe's body hit the bed, it became covered in dirt. "Rest, little lamb," Avery told Joe, pushing him back onto the bed and taking a pill from the nightstand beside the bed. He dropped it into a glass then picked up the bottle of wine from the table and filled the glass. He gave the glass to Joe who swallowed once, then put the glass to his lips and tilted his head back, letting the contents pour down his throat. Joe knew it was dangerous to mix drugs with alcohol, but he really had no choice. And besides, knowing his captor, it was a combination that wasn't lethal anyway. It would be too easy.  
  
Avery took the glass and returned it and the wine to the bedside table. He sat down on the bed beside Joe and reached for the scissors, which had also been laid out in anticipation of Joe's arrival.  
  
As Joe's eyelids grew heavy, Avery rubbed the blades of the scissors up and down Joe's face, beginning with his left temple and gliding down around his chin and up the other side, repeating the movement which helped lull Joe to sleep even as the feel of the steel struck fear in his heart.  
  
After Joe's breathing evened out, Avery began cutting Joe's blond locks, tossing them in the floor and on the bed beside Joe. He deliberately took off more in some places than others, leaving Joe looking like someone had taken hedge clippers to his head rather than scissors.  
  
After cutting Joe's hair, Avery realized this might not be such a good place to hide after all. Surely, there was one person intelligent enough to think he might come here...that is, if the disturbed grave was discovered.  
  
He looked at the couple who had watched in horrific fascination as he had toyed with the boy's hair and smiled. He laid the scissors on the bed beside Joe and stood up. Entering the bathroom, he pulled the cord from the wall. He lifted the woman and carried her back across the threshold and tossed her onto the bedroom floor. He returned and put the man over his shoulder, dropping him beside his wife seconds later.  
  
Avery then let the water out and carried the stools back to where he had gotten them the previous evening. Next, he carried Joe outside and laid him on the floor in the back of the car, positive the youth would not awaken for several hours. He snatched up a bucket from beside the back porch on his way back inside and took a knife form the kitchen drawer.  
  
Upstairs, he came to a standstill by the man and set the bucket down. As the woman watched, screaming behind her gag, he slashed at the man until his blood flowed freely. He caught some in the bucket then rammed the knife into the man repeatedly until he ceased breathing. Avery looked at the woman. When next he stood up, he wondered where to dispose of the bodies, or if he should even bother. 


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm sorry, Fenton," Chief Collig said to Mr. Hardy later that day as they met in the sheriff's home which doubled as his office.. "We've combed every inch of the graveyard and can't find anything to indicate where Avery might have taken Joe."  
  
"Where you...." Mr. Hardy stopped and swallowed, needing to ask this question but not wanting to hear an affirmative answer. "Where you able to discern what happened in the cemetery?" he finally managed to get it out.  
  
"There was a belt found near the cross close to the entrance to the graveyard," Chief Collig informed the two Hardys. "There was blood on it, probably Joe's. Judging from it's location and the way the grass had been flattened, the belt was most likely used to bind his wrists around the cross."  
  
He went silent for a minute, waiting to see if either Hardy had anything to say before continuing. "The shallow grave on top of your father's grave did, for a time, hold Joe," he said, looking Mr. Hardy in the eyes. "Again, there were bloodstains. These were in the area of his wrists and our Forensics team all agree he managed to pry the belt off at the cross and almost got away."  
  
"Almost?" Frank questioned.  
  
"There were indentions on the ground which show someone trying to crawl out of the graveyard," Collig explained.  
  
"What stopped him from getting away?" Mr. Hardy asked.  
  
"Avery," the chief answered. "Footprints showed up where the crawling indentions ceased. There were, however, another set of indentions indicating Avery picked Joe up by the feet and dragged him to Marshall Hardy's grave."  
  
"Have you contacted the FBI?" Mr. Hardy inquired.  
  
"I did," Collig affirmed. "Together we have formed road blocks around Signet and Bayport. The train and bus station as well as the airports have all been put on alert for anyone matching Avery's description," he informed the Hardys. "Since Avery's vehicle was spotted in Signet early this morning, it's a fair assumption he and Joe are still in the vicinity."  
  
"With the help of the Bayport police department and the FBI, this entire area is going to be searched," said the sheriff of Signet, Angus Henley. "We'll find Joe."  
  
Frank left the small building which served as both home and office to the local sherrif and walked down the street, breathing in the fresh air as he tried to figure out where Avery could be hiding Joe. He knew there had to be a reason why Avery had chosen their grandfather's grave to bury Joe. If he could figure that out, then maybe he could guess where he would go next. It was times like these when Frank knew why there were specialists in criminal profiles. If only he could get inside Avery's head, he was sure he could find Joe. But how do you get inside the mind of a madman?  
  
"Or is he mad?" Frank wondered aloud, his step faultering. Douglas had said Avery wanted to desecrate Joe. How could he do that? By burying Joe alive on top of his grandfather's grave, Avery may have sought to make Joe angry enough to want revenge. If Joe became consummed with hate he would be corrupted, Frank thought. Teriffying Joe to the point where his only escape was desire for revenge would destroy his soul.  
  
Frank's eyes hardened. He wasn't going to lose his brother to anyone, including himself. He turned and headed back for the sheriff's office, an idea about where Avery may have taken Joe in his head.  
  
When Frank reached the sheriff's home, he was alarmed to see everyone preparing to leave; his father's face ashen as he walked unsteadily to Chief Collig's squad car.  
  
"What's happened?" Frank demanded, running up to his dad and the chief.  
  
"The car has been found," Collig answered. "Or, at least, what's left of it. Get in," he ordere Frank, climbing in behind the wheel as Mr. Hardy got in the passenger side.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Chief Collig arrived at the location where the remains of the Reliant were still smouldering. The fire department and Sergeant Con Riley were on the scene as well as two Federal men and a Forensics team. "There were two people in the car when it went over the cliff," Sergeant Riley informed Chief Collig and the Hardys as they came over.  
  
Frank looked up at the cliff high above them. "Wasn't there a guard rail?" he demanded angrily, his eyes shining. He was finding it hard to believe Joe was dead.  
  
"There had been construction going on up there," Sherrif Henley explained, coming over. "The guard rail was taken down temporarily and the road was closed. Avery must have bypassed the barricade."  
  
"Are you sure it was Joe and Avery in the car?" Frank demanded. "Maybe Avery sold it?"  
  
"There are two distinct remains in the car," Con told Frank, repeating what he had been told by the Forensics team. "One larger person driving and a smaller one in the rear floorboard."  
  
"No," Frank denied, shaking his ehad as tears started falling. "No. It's not true. It can't be...no," he begged, his voice becoming a whisper as he fell to his knees, weeping uncontrollably.  
  
Neither Frank nor Mr. Hardy were in any condition to drive home so Chief Collig ordered Riley to go to the sheriff's office and drive the Hardy's sedan back to their home. One of the forensics officers would drop him off and then take Con's cruiser back to the bayport PD.  
  
The chief managed to get the car keys from the emotionally wrecked Mr. Hardy and gave them to the Sergeant before helping first Mr. Hardy into his squad car and then Frank.  
  
Frank was still crying, unable to stop the flow of tears, but Mr. Hardy seemed to be in shock, not responding or showing any evidence he felt the touch of the chief as he was ushered into the car.  
  
They were almost home before Frank spoke. "What?" Chief Collig asked. He knew Frank had said something but it was so low he hadn't been able to make it out.  
  
"My grandparent's old house," Frank said a bit louder. "He..he probably stayed there after he...after he..." Frank stopped, unable to say anymore, but the chief knew what he ahd been about to say. After Avery had buried Joe in the graveyard.  
  
Chief Collig radioed Riley who was still at the scene with the forensics team and told him to check out the old Hardy homestead. The sheriff was still there and said the new owners had been going on vacation and had asked him to keep an eye on the place so a search warrant wouldn't even be needed.  
  
Soon Collig pulled to a stop at the Hardy home. Neither Hardy wanted to go inside, dreading having to break the news to Mrs. Hardy. Chief Collig opened his car door as a Ford Explorer pulled into the drive beside him. A young girl got out. Collig knew her by sight if not by name. She had been Joe's girlfriend.  
  
Frank saw Vanessa and what composure he had managed to regain on the trip back, fled. Vanessa saw Chief Collig open the back door for Frank to get out and she froze, mid-stride, her heart breaking. She knew from looking at Frank that Joe was dead. Frank got out of the car and she ran to him, flinging her arms around him as she burst into tears.  
  
Mr. Hardy closed his eyes and swallowed before opening his door and getting out. "Fenton, would you..." Collig began to offer to tell Laura, but Mr. Hardy shook his head. He sniffed deeply as tears made their way freely down his cheeks and he walked up the steps to the house.  
  
Frank and Vanessa remained where they were, oblivious to the next-door neighbors who had come out to watch, aware something terrible had happened.  
  
Chief Collig remained outside with the two teenagers while Mr. Hardy went inside and broke the news to his wife. He heard Mrs. Hardy's scream of anguish and her sobbing before it faded. He assumed Mr. Hardy had led her into the living room after telling her.  
  
Almost thirty minutes later, Frank and Vanessa pulled apart and went inside. Chief Collig waited outside for Sergeant Riley to bring Mr. Hardy's car, sure the Hardys and Joe's girlfriend needed the time to themselves.  
  
When Riley arrived at the Hardy home he had more bad news. The old Hardy home had been searched. He told the chief about the dirt on the sheets in the bedroom. "Avery cut Joe's hair," he continued. "There were locks of blond hair all over the pillow and floor. It looks like Avery finished what he had planned to do in Signet and took the road by the cliff in an effort to avoid the roadblocks. And Chief," he added, his voice deepening with emotion. "There was a large amount of blood on the carpet. Too much for anyone to lose and live through."  
  
"So he killed Joe before the accident?" Collig pondered the move. "Why? Was he planning on taking Joe's body somewhere specific?"  
  
"I guess we'll never know," Con answered, looking up at the Hardy home with bright brown eyes. He had been good friends with the Hardy boys for years and Joe's death was beginning to take it's toll. 


	10. Chapter 10

It was late in the evening when someone knocked on the Hardys' front door. Mr. Hardy let go of his wife's hand and got up to go answer it. Callie Shaw stood at the threshold. Seeing Mr. Hardy's red eyes, she knew something must be wrong. "Joe?" she asked.  
  
Mr. Hardy swallowed before answering. "He's dead," he rasped, moving aside for her to enter. Callie walked through the foyer into the living room where Frank and the others sat.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she whispered to Mrs. Hardy who had looked up at her arrival. Mrs. Hardy nodded, too tired to cry anymore.  
  
"Sorry," Frank said in a loud, unintentional whisper. "I should have called you."  
  
"Oh, honey, I understand," she said, tears falling down her face as she went to him and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her, soaking up the compassion she offered, sure he didn't deserve it.  
  
While Callie was there, Andrea Bender, Vanessa's mother, called to find out why Vanessa hadn't returned home. Callie answered the phone and told her about Joe. Mrs. Bender said she would be over to pick up Vanessa. She didn't think it would be safe to let her drive right now. Callie agreed after looking over at Vanessa whose eyes were emotionless as she sat hugging herself in what had been Joe's favorite chair.  
  
After Vanessa had left and Mr. and Mrs. Hardy had gone upstairs to their bedroom, Frank looked over at Callie. "Want to go for a walk?" he asked.  
  
Callie stood up and followed Frank out the back door. She had to walk fast to keep up with him, but she didn't mind. She could see that something was eating at him and she had a bad feeling that she knew what it was. When he finally slowed down and started talking to her, she knew she had been right.  
  
"I miss him so much," Frank told her, his voice soft yet rough. "I wasted so much time," he added and her heart began to break as he continued. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I left for college early he would have more time to prepare himself for being an adult. I was so sure he could take care of himself no matter what happened."  
  
"Frank..." Callie tried to talk to him but he kept talking, not hearing her.  
  
"I was so wrong. I should have stayed home this summer. Cherished every moment we had together. If I had, Joe would never have gone to camp...tried to go to camp," he amended, stopping by the tree on the corner and laying his back against it as he fought the despair which threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
"Oh, I know. Joe and I aren't normal teenagers. We talked it out. We would always be there for each other when we were working; but not under normal circumstances." Frank bowed his head as his tears fell unchecked. "I let him down. He is...was my baby brother and I started treating him like I would treat Phil or Chet." He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. "All these weeks we could have been together and now...now I'll never see him again."  
  
He sank to the ground, sobbing, and Callie, not knowing what to say, knelt beside him and held him. They stayed there until the moon was high in the night sky. Frank had quit crying and was sitting there, his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms around them. His eyes were focused on some distant thing only he seemed to be able to see. Callie sat beside him, quite, understanding he needed someone nearby though not invading the space he felt belonged to Joe.  
  
"Once when we were kids, Joe asked me what I thought being dead was like," Frank spoke up after over an hour of silence. "I told him I thought it was like going to sleep." He stopped and sniffed. "He wanted to know if you dreamed when you were dead. I told him I didn't know but maybe good people had good dreams and bad people had nightmares."  
  
Frank took a deep ragged breath and sniffed again. "He..." Frank paused and swallowed. "He asked if good people die and dream good dreams, then why everyone was so sad when someone died? I couldn't answer him but mom did. She said it was because people were selfish and wanted to keep that person with us but the person who gone to sleep was happy and wouldn't ever have to suffer or be sad."  
  
Frank looked over into Callie's eyes, his own filled with pain. "I don't care of I am being selfish. I want Joe back."  
  
"That's not possible," Callie began.  
  
"You think I don't know that!" Frank demanded angrily, turning on her with eyes blazing. "I know I'll never see him again. I've lost my brother, my partner and my best friend. I'll never be able to tell him how sorry I am for letting him down. I'll never be able to..to..to tell him how much I love him." He wiped the tears from his face quickly. "Oh God, why did I have to leave for college in the summer? As if college matters. All I want is to be able to hold Joe. Just to see him, talk to him, just...love him," Frank ended softly, burying his head in his arms and letting his emotions consume him once again.  
  
"I know, baby," Callie said, crying as she pulled Frank close to her.  
  
They stayed beneath the tree on the corner for a little while longer. The night air grew chilly and the two rose slowly and walked back to the Hardy home.  
  
"Are you going to be all right?" Callie asked him as they stopped by her car.  
  
"Eventually," Frank said, praying he was speaking the truth. It had to quit hurting this much, didn't it?  
  
"If you need anything?" she offered.  
  
Frank gave her a smile, which barely curved his lips, but it was the best he could do. He kissed her forehead. "Thanks." He opened the driver's door and waited while she climbed inside.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," she promised before he shut her door.  
  
Frank remained outside and watched her drive away. After she turned the corner out of sight, he turned to face his house. It struck him then that he would never again walk through the door and find his brother sprawled out on the sofa, lazily reading a magazine or watching television.  
  
As he walked up the steps he vividly remembered Joe there, dressed as Batman at Halloween ten years previously, and him falling down on the stairs laughing three years later as he made some silly joke that cracked him up more than any one else. He could see Joe sitting on the porch swing, laughing at the antics of Chet when he was practicing to be a clown the previous year.  
  
Would it always hurt this much, Frank wondered, standing at the top of the porch steps and staring at the swing. Will it hurt everytime I think of him?  
  
Two days later, Frank was still wondering. Joe's funeral was being held early in the morning. It had been agreed upon that there was no need for an autopsy and Joe's remains had been released to the Hardys.  
  
Callie had called all the Hardys' closest friends and they had immediately canceled their plans and returned to Bayport for the funeral. The pre-funeral service was a closed casket service and afterwards, Frank, Chet , Biff, and Phil served as Pall Bearers. Frank wanted to stay as close to Joe as possible and had insisited on being the front left one.  
  
The casket was placed beside the open grave and everyone bowed their heads to pray. Frank galnced over at the grave of his grandfather which had been refilled and grew faint. Biff, placed a hand on Frank's elbow to steady him. All too soon it was time to place the casket in the ground.  
  
"Wait," Vanessa said, her voice loud in the silence. "Please." Everyone turned to look at her questioningly. "I...I'd like to give Joe my ring," she said, holding out her right hand where she wore the ring which had been handed down through her family for generations.  
  
Frank nodded, knowing how much Joe would have appreciated the gesture but thinking if she really loved him she should have done it while he was still alive. Frank bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to think that. He didn't even mean it. He knew she cared for him. But he was hurting so much and the urge to strike out was growing unbearable.  
  
Frank lifted the lid of the casket, dropping it immediately and falling back in shock. Alarmed, Mr. Hardy rushed forward and grabbed Frank but he had already stabilized himself. He shook his father's arm off and flew at the casket, lifting the lid.  
  
"Joe," he whispered, seeing his brother lying there, his eyes looking up at him in stark terror! 


	11. Chapter 11

When Joe awoke he was lying on the floor of what appeared to be a deserted cabin. There was no furniture and the roof had more than a few rotting boards where it had been bombarded by rain. Laid out in the corner of the room was a bottle of wine; a silver flask; a silver dagger; a black candle; a lighter; a bucket; a sponge; and several rolls of gray tape.  
  
Joe shuddered when he saw the array and tried to sit up. "Good evening, little lamb," his capotor said from the doorway, causing Joe to start and lose his balance. His arms gave way and his head crashed onto the wooden floor.  
  
"Easy," Avery said, coming closer to Joe. "Tomorrow night it ends," he promised. "But for now..." Avery picked up the bottle of wine and opened it. He knelt down by Joe and lifted his head. Joe winced in pain as Avery's hand made contact with the fresh lump on the back of his head. Avery put the bottle to Joe's lips and kept it there until Joe had consumed half the bottle. He laid Joe's head gently back down and closed the wine bottle.  
  
He tugged at Joe's soiled shorts until they came loose in his hand and he tossed them into the corner. He stood and retrieved the bucket and sponge from the corner then returned to where Joe lay. Smiling, he dipped the sponge into the bucket. He pulled the sponge back out and squeezed the excess liquid out before putting the sponge to Joe's forehead and rubbing the sponge over him.  
  
Joe gagged when he realized it was blood being put on him. "Easy, boy," Avery told him. "Blood is very important. Besides, we don't want to waste his blood after he let us stay in his house, now do we?"  
  
Having animal blood poured on him when he was a prisoner of the cult was bad enough, but having human blood, the blood opf someone who had been killed just for his blood...it was too much. Joe forgot all about his plan to play along. He couldn't control himself. He began wretching and in seconds was throwing up all over his captor.  
  
Avery gave a hearty laugh and soaked the sponge again. "That's it, boy," he told Joe. "Give in to it. Let your emotions control you." It was several minutes before Joe stopped gagging and when he did, he still felt sick.  
  
"Please, God, let it end," Joe entreated silently. "No more. Please." Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and Avery rubbed the tears with the blood soaked sponge. He covered every inch of Joe's body with the blood, turning him over to get the rear, then started again. Thirteen times Joe was bathed in the blood before his captor tossed the sponge in the bucket and stood up.  
  
He took the wine bottle and forced Joe to consume the rest of it then stood up and left the room. He was back in two minutes with some rope. He tied Joe up and left him alone. Joe tried to struggle with the ropes, but he was too weak. Finally, he fell asleep.  
  
When next he awoke, his captor was sitting beside him, watching him. Joe looked at him in question, wondering with morbid fascination what was next in store for him. "I paid a visit to Bayport," Joe was told. "Your funeral is tomorrow," he paused to let that information sink in. "And I was thinking it would be a shame if you missed it."  
  
Joe shivered at the glint in the man's eyes. "You must have been tired, Little Lamb," he continued. "You slept all last night and most of today." he reached over and traced the pentagram on Joe's chest. "It's time." He untied Joe's hands and placed twenty pound leg weights on each wrist. Had Joe been in better condition, he could have lifted his arms easily, but he was so weak, the weights were an effective means of keeping him in place.  
  
Joe looked over and saw the dagger, flask, candle and lighter were no longer int he corner. Instead, they lay within easy reach. Joe's ehart raced as the man started chanting while he traced the pentagram on Joe's chest. Thirteen times he repeated the gesture, his voice never faultering or changing in tempo.  
  
After the thirteenth time, he took the black candle and lit it. Still chanting words which offered Joe's soul to Satan, he took the candle and let the hot wax drip down onto Joe's chest as he again trace the tattoo. When there was nothing left of the candle but a stub, he set it in the center of the pentagram on Joe's chest and watched and chanted as it melted and flickered out.  
  
Avery reached for the silver dagger and lifted it to Joe's chest. Joe waited for him to plunge it into the center of his chest where he had let the candle melt but instead, Avery lowered it and traced the outline of the tattoo gently, causing him to bleed lightly. He turned Joe's right hand palm side up and let the dagger sink into the skin, stopping just short of the top of his hand.  
  
Joe screamed out in agony not for the first time. Tears accompanied his silent screams as he tried his utmost to close his hand, but he wasn't allowed to do so.  
  
Avery took the flask and lifted it to Joe's hand. He squeezed Joe's hand forcing blood to drip into the silver flask. The flask was half full when he removed it. He took the dagger once again and repeated the procedure with Joe's left hand. The flask full, he lifted it to Joe's lips and forced him to drink his own blood. Joe gagged, but kept it down.  
  
Next, Avery lifted the flask to his own lips and drank deeply. Lowering the flask, he wiped a dribble of blood from his lip and closed the flask. He untied Joe's ankles and picked up a roll of gray tape. Starting with Joe's toes, he began wrapping Joe like a mumy. One roll down, he picked up another and continued the task. He reached Joe's waist and brought Joe's bleeding hands to his side, forcing them tight against him before taking another roll and encircling him. He used all the tape he had brought, ending his task at Joe's neck.  
  
The pressure brought on by the tape caused Joe's hands to stop bleeding. Joe was confused. He had been sure he was supposed to have died. His captor stood up and lifted Joe into his arms. He carried Joe out of the cabin and into the woods, down a little path to a beige car. Joe knew instinctivily it had belonged to the man who had been killed. He wondered if the fiend had killed the woman also. That thought was followed almost immediately by a positive one from his subconscious.  
  
Once in the car, they drove for a bit. When they stopped and Joe was hauled out of the car, he saw he was at the church near the cemetery where his grandparents' graves were located.  
  
Joe was left alone by the car for a few minutes. When his captor returned, Joe was lifted up and carried into the church and set inside an open coffin. The lid was closed and Joe was left alone.  
  
He must have fallen asleep because he was awoken by the sounds of someone talking. Joe opened his mouth and tried to scream but no sound came out. Crying his silent tears, he listened tot he muffled voices from outside his coffin. He couldn't make out the words but he knew what was happening. It was his funeral.  
  
He felt himself lifted and carried slowly somewhere then set on the ground. Good-bye, Frank, Mom, Dad, Vanessa, Joe thought. He knew this time he was being buried for real. There would be no more reprieves. He would suffocate six feet in the ground, close to his grandparent's graves. "I'm sorry," his lips formed the words. "I always seem to cause you pain. This will be the last time," he promised, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable.  
  
Less than a minute later, when he should have been moving into the ground, his eyes flew open as the casket lid lifted. Joe's eyes, wide with the terror of the past few days and the wonder of what was happening, flew open and clashed with the familiar brown eyes of his brother.  
  
"NO! WAIT!" Joe shouted silently as Frank dropped the lid back down, leaving him in darkness again. "No. Don't," Joe begged silently, tears falling down his blood-stained face. "Please don't leave me here!" 


	12. Chapter 12

Frank threw the lid of the coffin open. "Joe," he rasped, his voice disbelieving.  
  
"Joseph!" Mr. Hardy exclaimed, looking over Frank's shoulder, his eyes widening in shock.  
  
Chief Collig rushed forward, saw Joe in the casket and barked an order to the members of the Bayport Police Department that had attended the funeral. "Spread out! I want that sicko psycho found!"  
  
At once, several members of the congregation took off as others rushed to the coffin to see what had caused the commotion. Gertrude Hardy, Joe's aunt who had cut her vacation in the Bahamas short when she heard about her nephew, fainted when she saw him as did Vanessa and Mrs. Hardy.  
  
Mrs. Bender, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper and Mr. and Mrs. Morton rushed to their aid as Mr. Hardy, Frank and Biff helped to lift Joe out of the casket. Callie pulled out her cell phone and called for an ambulance as Chet, Phil and Tony pulled out their pocket knives and started cutting the tape off of Joe.  
  
Once it became obvious Joe was naked beneath the tape, the females were shooed away while Joe was freed. The ambulance arrived as the last of the tape came off and his hands were at once bandaged until he could be treated at the hospital.  
  
It was several hours later and the Hardy's friends had been sent home with promises of visitation privileges the next day. Chief Collig had alerted the FBI to the situation and a statewide all points bulletin had been issued for Cameron Avery.  
  
The remains found in the car were returned to the police station for an autopsy and the remains that had been thought to have been Avery's were also included in the autopsy order. Joe had fallen asleep on his way to the hospital and was unable to answer any questions about what had happened. The damage to his hands had been taken care of and the tattoo was removed. His chest had been taped and both hands were ensconced in bandages before Joe was taken to a room on the fourth floor and IV's attached to his arms.  
  
Until he had regained some strength, he would be receiving much needed nutrients through the IVs as well as antibiotics to speed the healing process. The tests for Joe's throat that were to have been executed before his abduction had been postponed until Joe's health improved.  
  
"Baby," Mrs. Hardy said as she was finally allowed in to see him. "Oh, baby," she started crying as she touched the stubble that had once been a lock of gorgeous blond hair.  
  
Joe opened his eyes and saw her. He touched her hand with his lips. She sniffed and tried to bring her tears under control. "You really scared us this time," she teased him gently. He smiled at her wanly.  
  
"Hi, Son," Mr. Hardy came up behind her. "It's all over," he promised. "Chief Collig has a guard outside the door and..."  
  
"And I'm not leaving you alone for a minute until that bastard has been caught," Frank said from Joe's other side. Joe turned to look at him, his blue eyes hardening. Frank's breath caught and he paled a bit but their parents' were too relieved to notice the exchange.  
  
"They won't allow but one person to stay and short of drugging your brother, there is no way he will leave," Mr. Hardy told Joe.  
  
"We'll be back first thing in the morning," Mr. Hardy promised, bending down and kissing his son's forehead. "If you need anything, let Frank know and he will see to it that you get it even if he has to call us," he added.  
  
Joe nodded his understanding and Mr. and Mrs. Hardy left the hospital for the night to go home and enjoy a good night's rest for the first time in days.  
  
"Joe, I..." Frank began, but Joe closed his eyes and bit his lip. Joe did not want to hear Frank say he couldn't stay longer than the night. He didn't want to hear how if he had been more cautious as told, none of this would have happened. He simply could not handle a lecture. Not now. He couldn't stand the thought of Frank backing away from him. He needed him so very much.  
  
When Joe opened his eyes, Frank was staring at him, a look of anguish on his face. Joe's eyes met Frank's and Joe could see not the annoyance as he had expected, but pain. Frank was hurting but Joe didn't know why.  
  
Frank reached over and touched Joe's cheek. "I'm so sorry, Baby Brother," Frank said softly. "I was so wrong. I tried to push you away because I thought you would be better off if you had to get along without me. But that isn't the way it works. We're brothers and we are supposed to look out for each other."  
  
Joe looked up at him, his eyes questioning. "I don't know if I can explain this," Frank continued, looking down into his brother's face. "All I can say is that when I thought you had died, nothing mattered. All those weeks when I was in school and I thought you had been in camp and the time before high school let out...we could have spent together; having fun, enjoying life."  
  
Frank started crying. "You make me whole. I need you so very much. I doubt you will ever forgive me but please know I love you and I will do anything and everything I can to show you how much."  
  
"Forgive?" Joe mouthed, looking at Frank with his head tilted. He had no idea what Frank was apologizing for. Granted, Frank had been wrong about letting Joe go off on his own. Joe had been prepared to knock some sense into him over that, but it seemed Frank had already realized he had blundered. But he seemed to be apologizing for something else.  
  
"I'm sorry. This whole thing is my fault. I should have stayed home for the summer instead of rushing away. Two measly months wouldn't have made that much of a difference to my education. For that matter, I can wait another year. We can go together. We can share a dorm room or get an apartment. Anything you want."  
  
Joe shook his head at Frank. "Don't say no," Frank pleaded, his brown eyes reminiscent of a puppy's. "Give me a chance to prove I can be a good brother. Please?"  
  
Joe couldn't believe it. Frank had completely lost it. Joe reached up and gently bopped Frank on the head. "What was that for?" Frank demanded, not in the least bit angry.  
  
Joe started to open his mouth to explain but realized it would be futile. He couldn't even write because of the bandages on his hands. Frank sighed and sat down. His gaze remaining on Joe as Joe tried to think of some way to let Frank know he wasn't mad at him.  
  
An idea coming to him, Joe sat up and moved the covers off of him. Frank got back up and rushed back to his side. "You can't get up," he admonished Joe, reaching for the sheet.  
  
Joe hadn't been planning on getting up. He just wanted Frank close to him again. Joe reached up and pulled Frank to him with both arms and gave him as big a hug as he could manage. Frank pulled back a bit and looked down into Joe's eyes.  
  
"You don't hate me?" he asked, shock and surprise warring in his eyes. Joe shook his head vehemently.  
  
"You should," Frank told him. "If I hadn't pulled such a stupid stunt, you never would have had a chance to have gotten involved with Francessca or that cult, or Avery," he informed Joe.  
  
"Avery?" Joe mouthed.  
  
"That is the bastard's real name who did this to you," Frank told him. "I don't know what all he did to you, but I can promise you this, he will never do anything else to you. I'll kill him first."  
  
Joe hugged Frank again, his body shaking. Frank realized Joe was crying, not with fear or sadness but with relief because he was finally safe. Frank held Joe until he had cried himself to sleep and then he eased Joe back onto the bed. Frank sat down in the chair and closed his eyes. It was okay to rest, he thought. There was a guard right outside the door.  
  
Frank awoke to feel a steel blade at his throat and a strong arm pulling him from his chair. Joe was awakened by the noise and sat up in bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing.  
  
"Hello, Little Lamb," said the man who stood in elevator shoes, his hair dyed red with a smattering of cosmetic freckles on his face. "The ritual happened. You have to die."  
  
Frank opened his mouth to shout for help but Avery put his hand tightly over Frank's mouth and no sound came out. "But first, I think you should have a taste of your brother," Avery told a terrified Joe.  
  
Remembering he had been forced to drink his own blood, Joe knew Avery was going to kill Frank and force him to have a swallow of his blood. NO! Joe thought. No way and I going to let you hurt my brother, he vowed. Joe threw back his cover and tried to get up but Avery gave an evil laugh and blood began seeping from Frank's neck where Avery nicked it just a bit to taunt Joe.  
  
"No, no, no.." Joe mouthed, horrified at the sight of Frank's blood. "No, no, no.." he said again, surprised to hear a faint whisper that was so low even Avery hadn't heard. Joe took a deep breath and screamed as loud as he could, "NOOOOOOOOOO!"  
  
The door crashed open and an officer stood there, gun drawn. He saw the knife at Frank's throat, the blood trickling down from where it had pierced the skin. He saw the disguised Avery start to move the hand that held the knife and he fired his gun.  
  
Avery fell to the floor. The officer had hit the only space available he could without taking a chance and hitting Frank. His bullet had entered Avery's head. Frank rushed over to Joe and pulled him into his arms. "It's all right. It's all right," he kept repeating. Joe remained in Frank's embrace, trembling, until a nurse arrived followed immediately by the doctor on call. He was transferred to another room and given a sedative and soon was sleeping soundly.  
  
Frank's neck was examined and required no more than a bandage. Frank called his parents who rushed down to the hospital, arriving in the parking lot just in time to enter the building with Chief Collig who had been called at home about the matter.  
  
"He spoke," Frank told his parents in an excited whisper as they entered Joe's new room. "He spoke!"  
  
"What about Avery?" Mr. Hardy demanded quietly, not wanting to disturb Joe.  
  
"He's dead," Frank said. "He put on a disguise and slipped past the guard and got into Joe's room. But when he tried to kill me, Joe screamed and Officer Steadham came in. He had to kill him or Avery would have killed me."  
  
"I guess since Joe can speak again, we'll find out what happened to him," Chief Collig said.  
  
"Not tonight," Frank told him. "The doctor gave him a sedative but even if he hadn't, Joe needs time to recover before he starts answering any questions."  
  
"He's right," said the doctor, entering the room. "Joe did scream and that means the damage to his vocal chords wasn't permanent, but they are going to be raw and sore. He will have to speak softly, and sparingly, to give them time to heal."  
  
"But he is going to be all right?" Mrs. Hardy demanded, anxiously.  
  
"Given time, Joe will make a full physical recovery," the doctor assured her.  
  
"Physical?" Collig asked sharply.  
  
"He has been through a lot," the doctor replied. "Under the circumstances, I would suggest he see a psychiatrist at least once and let him decide how much therapy Joe may need."  
  
One month later, three days before Joe was to start his senior year at Bayport High, Joe, Frank, Vanessa, and Callie were all gathered at the Hardy home. Their closest friends, Biff, Chet, Tony and Phil were also there. They were having a last get together before they all went their separate ways.  
  
Joe and Vanessa had made up and Joe wore the ring Vanessa's great-grandmother had given her that had belonged to her great-grandfather. Joe sported a crew cut, which was the best the hair stylist had been able to do with the mess Avery had made of his hair.  
  
Joe's throat was still prone to get sore if he talked too much but he and Frank had hashed out their problems, with Joe doing most of the talking. He had insisted Frank go on to college and Frank had agreed; but only if he could live at home and commute.  
  
The case was closed and the families of the couple Avery had killed, were notified. Proper burials were given to the couple who now resided in plots in the cemetery, which held Marshall and Alice Hardy.  
  
Joe had been to see a psychiatrist the week after he was released from the hospital and was scheduled for one session every week until he could come to terms with what had happened to him. Joe felt this wouldn't take long as what he really needed to become well, physically and emotionally, was his brother, parents, and friends. Their support, he knew, would get him through the nightmares, which still plagued him.  
  
With Frank beside him, Joe could handle any monsters, real or imagined, he encountered. It was this belief that had him smiling and goofing around with Chet like the events of the summer had never happened.  
  
Leaning her head back against her husband who stood behind her watching the teens, Mrs. Hardy sighed contentedly. She was happy to have all of her family home where they belonged.  
  
The End 


End file.
